Her Core Of Steele
by kgmohror
Summary: When Laura starts ducking work and acting strangely, Mr. Steele determines to get to the bottom of the mystery.


**Her Core of Steele**

An astonishingly handsome man stepped off the elevator on the 11th floor of the Century building and discovered, to his surprise, that he was whistling a sprightly Irish tune. It wasn't the fact of his whistling that startled him, but the realization of WHY: He was in a good mood.

If anyone had told him, even six months ago, that he would whistle his way to work — at a real job, by the way, with all the associated drudgery of keeping regular hours and plowing through tedious paperwork — he'd have called them crazy. He was, after all, the furthest thing from the 9-to-5 type; his restless feet and independent spirit had taken him around the world in pursuit of excitement, luxury … distraction. He hadn't really understood what drove him from pillar to post, never staying more than a few days in any one place. He only knew that there was a strange kind of gnawing hunger deep in his gut that kept him moving, moving, moving in search of something he had no name for.

Except now that something DID have a name: Laura.

He smiled at the thought of his beautiful, independent, sometimes exasperating partner. It had been a stormy three years together. For a long time he had clung to the fiction that playing the part of Remington Steele was just another ruse, a temporary pause on the road to whatever came next. But since they returned from London, things had changed. He had chased his true identity from Australia to Italy to France to Dublin to London – only to find who he _really_ was reflected in a pair of warm, brown eyes.

He was Remington Steele.

True, he hadn't been born Steele, but no other identity had ever felt more real and natural to him. It was because of her, of course. Laura had created Steele, concocted this image of her ideal man out of whole cloth and, inexplicably, deemed him worthy to wear the mantle. It still scared him sometimes — her entrusting him with an identity he knew he was unworthy of claiming. But he was determined to do his damndest to fill Steele's expensive Italian shoes honorably. To make her proud of him.

Glancing at his watch as he walked down the corridor toward the offices of Remington Steele Investigations, Steele knew that he was unlikely to earn her praise today; it was 10:15 am, unusually late even for him. He rehearsed his carefully crafted excuses in his head as he pushed open the glass doors to the sleek and modern office suite.

"Good morning, Chief!" Mildred greeted him.

"Top of the morning to you, Mildred," he answered warmly, then stole a glance at Laura's closed office door. "Is steam coming out of her ears, or is she merely foaming at the mouth?"

Mildred laughed. "You lucked out this time, boss. She's not in yet."

Steele frowned. "Oh?"

"She left a message on my desk last night, saying she had an appointment in the morning and would be in late."

"Huh," Steele said, the furrow over his brow deepening. "That's the third time in two weeks she's had an 'appointment.' She hasn't told you what it's about?"

Mildred shook her head. "Not a word. I don't like to pry into my employers' personal business …"

"You know you're more than a mere employee, Mildred."

She smiled. "Thank you, chief. Anyway, I didn't feel right asking her about it, but she's been so mysterious about the whole thing."

"I know," Steele agreed. Ordinarily, Laura was scrupulous about letting Mildred know exactly where she was during business hours, in case some urgent business should arise. But lately she'd taken long lunches and unexplained afternoons off without a word of explanation. And she'd seemed distracted and a little distant. Two nights ago the two detectives had a date to see the Moscow Ballet, a performance Laura had been looking forward to for weeks. At the last moment she'd called Steele and begged off, pleading a migraine.

"Well, let me know when she comes in," Steele began, just as the doors opened behind him and Laura walked in. She looked drawn.

"Good morning, Miss Holt," Mildred said.

"Keeping banker's hours these days, Laura?" Steele joked, and instantly regretted it.

Laura's lovely featured darkened. "I'm sorry if you feel I've been shirking my responsibilities, Mr. Steele." She glanced from Steele to Mildred and back again. "Fortunately, it looks as if the two of you have been productive enough for the both of us." With that she stomped off toward her office, Steele quick on her heels.

"Laura!" Steele protested, catching the door that she attempted to slam behind her. As she sat down at her desk and deposited her purse in the bottom desk drawer, Steele took the chair opposite and regarded her with a worried expression.

"Are you okay?" he ventured as she flipped open a manila folder on her desk and began pointedly studying it.

She glanced up quickly, then back down to her paperwork. "I'm fine. Don't you have work to do?"

"I tried to call you last night. You didn't answer."

"I had the phone turned off." She looked up and noted the concern on his handsome features. She sighed and gave him a weak smile. "I'm sorry. I was tired, and didn't feel like talking to anybody."

"I'd like to think I'm not just anybody," he replied quietly.

Irritation flickered across her face, replaced almost instantly by an expression Steele couldn't quite fathom. Guilt?

"Really, Mr. Steele, you're making a fuss out of nothing." She stood and walked around the desk, leaned down and placed a brief, tender kiss on his lips. "I'm fine. _We're_ fine."

"I hope so."

Her smile was warmer now, and infused with tenderness. "I'm supposed to be the fretter in this relationship, remember? Now, even if _you_ don't have anything to do this morning, I have three case files to get through." She pulled him out of the chair and pushed him gently toward the door connecting their offices.

"Lunch later?" he suggested as he reluctantly allowed himself to be maneuvered out of her domain.

"Actually, I was hoping to catch up on …" she trailed off, noting his knitted eyebrows. "Okay. A _quick_ lunch." Laura captured his chin with a thumb and forefinger. "Now get busy!" she said with mock sternness.

"Slave driver!" he muttered.

"Loafer!" she retorted.

They smiled at each other, and Steele was almost persuaded that nothing was wrong after all. Almost.

-

"I'm worried about you."

"Don't be."

Steele and Laura faced each other across the linen tablecloth, neither one of them much interested in the platters of filet of sole in front of them.

"I can't help it. I care about you." Steele reached across the table and placed his hand over Laura's, stroking her soft skin gently with his thumb. "You look tired."

"With lines like that, it's no wonder you're such a hit with the ladies."

Steele ignored the lame jest. "Tell me what's going on."

Laura sighed in exasperation. "Nothing! I haven't been sleeping well, so maybe I'm not firing on all cylinders at the moment. I'm not allowed an off day?"

"Absolutely. You're even allowed an off week or even two, which is about how long this has been going on. You're also allowed to let me pick up some of the slack. I am reasonably capable of handling routine cases, you know."

"Volunteering for extra work? Now I'm worried about _you_."

"I'm being serious."

"Now I _know_ the world is coming to an end. Is this the Twilight Zone, or are we on Candid Camera?"

"Laura-"

She abruptly pulled her hand out from under Steele's and placed it in her lap. "Fine," she said tersely. "Maybe I am a little run down. I was planning to take a couple of days off anyway to repaint the bathroom. So I'll sleep late and take naps between coats of paint and be back on Monday fresh as a daisy. Does that satisfy you?"

Steele took a deep, resigned breath. "I suppose it will have to. Do you want any help painting?"

"And have you hovering over me the whole time? No thanks." Apparently realizing how she sounded, she retrieved her hand from her lap and placed it gently on his cheek. "It's sweet of you to worry about me. But I'm not very good at being molly-coddled — especially when there's no need."

"If you say so."

"I do say so. Now let's get back to work."

Steele decided to appease Laura by setting his nose to the grindstone for the rest of the afternoon. At 4:00 he strolled into Laura's office … and found it empty.

"Mildred, did Miss Holt go out?" he called into the lobby.

"She's gone for the day, boss. She didn't tell you?"

Steele walked out to the receptionist's desk. "No. Actually, she was so intent on catching up with paperwork that I expected her to be working late. When did she leave?"

"About 3:30. Did you know she's taking tomorrow and Friday off?"

Steele nodded. "Yes, she mentioned it at lunch. She's got some projects around the apartment she wants to take care of." He frowned and jammed his hands into his pockets peevishly. It wasn't like Laura to leave early. "Did she seem all right when she left?"

"I guess so. I mean, she seemed to be in a little bit of a hurry-" The ringing phone cut Mildred off. She held up a finger to Steele and picked up the received. "Remington Steele Investigations."

Steele waited while Mildred spoke to whoever was on the phone, only half listening as he turned over Laura's strange behavior in his mind. His attention was brought back to the receptionist abruptly when he heard her say, "No, I'm not related to Miss Holt, but couldn't you tell me what this is about?"

Looking back at Mildred, Steele noted that she seemed flustered. A little knot of uneasiness formed in Steele's belly as he watched the motherly receptionist's whole body tense.

"You should be able to reach her at her home number. Do you have it on file? Yes, that's right. You're welcome. Goodbye." Mildred hung up the phone and looked at Steele, her face ashen.

"What is it, Mildred?"

"Oh, boss. I think Miss Holt's in trouble." Her eyes were bright and she blinked rapidly, as though she were fighting back tears.

"What kind of trouble? Legal? Is someone trying to hurt her?" Steele fired his questions rapidly.

Mildred shook her head. "No. That was the receptionist for Dr. Lillejamer. She wanted to remind Laura not to eat anything for 12 hours before her procedure."

"Procedure? What kind of procedure?" Steele grimaced, trying to wrap his head around what he was hearing.

"She wouldn't tell me; patient confidentiality. But boss-"

"What? What, Mildred?"

The secretary looked stricken. "I know Dr. Lillejamer. He treated my sister two years ago." Now there could be no doubt that Mildred was on the verge of breaking down. "Oh, Mr. Steele. He's an oncologist."

And Steele felt the world fall away beneath his feet.

-

Steele pounded on the door to Laura's loft until he thought it would rattle off its track. At last he heard fumbling from the other side and it slid open with a characteristic rumble. Laura stared at him in shock, her gaze taking in his disheveled appearance and wide eyes.

"What's the matter with you?" she gasped as he pushed his way past her and into the apartment.

"I believe that's my line," he said fiercely. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?" Laura said, but her expression was wary, as though she had an inkling of what was coming next.

"About this procedure you're having tomorrow. So busy comparing paint samples that it slipped your mind?"

"How did you find out about that?" Laura's voice had risen to match his.

"Never mind about that. I want to know what the hell is going on!"

Laura's face set like granite. "Calm down, Mr. Steele. Frankly, you've got some nerve barging in here, shouting at me like someone-"

"Like someone you're supposed to be in a relationship with?"

"Are you going to shut up and listen to me?"

Steele shut up.

"I didn't tell you or Mildred because it's not a big deal," Laura began with exaggerated casualness. "A couple of weeks ago I … I found a lump. I thought I'd better have my doctor check it out, and he recommended a biopsy, just to play it safe."

Steele swallowed hard and sat down on the couch. "Um. Okay. Um …" he stammered. "So what does that mean?"

She sat down beside him. "It means I'm going in tomorrow for a simple, out-patient procedure. They'll excise the lump and examine it."

"Then what?"

Laura was silent a moment. "Then nothing, probably. Or … if it's something … well, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."

"What time is the procedure?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"What do you mean, why do I want to know? I'm going with you!"

Laura stood up and crossed to the kitchen counter, picked up a wash rag and began wiping it over the formica. "No, you're not."

Steele leapt to his feet and bounded across the room. He grabbed her elbow and turned her around to face him. "I'm coming with you, Laura, and that's final."

It was the wrong thing to say. Laura jerked her arm from his grasp and rounded the counter, putting distance between her and Steele. "You are NOT coming with me, Mr. Steele. And THAT is final." Her voice radiated icy calm.

Steele ran his hand raggedly through his hair. "Why not? Why don't you want me there?"

She stood with arms crossed over her heaving chest. Steele could tell she was barely holding on to her composure. Finally she spoke. "Because it's none of your business."

Steele recoiled as though he'd been slapped. He stared at her a long moment. Then he turned and walked to the door. He paused on the threshold, fighting the urge to turn around. Instead, he clenched his fists at his sides and walked out.

-

Steele lay on his back staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom, making a list of things he should do.

He should call Mildred, who he knew was worried sick.

He should get very drunk.

He should go into the kitchen and throw every piece of glassware against the wall to drown out the sound of his own voice, screaming inside his head.

He didn't do any of these things. Instead, he continued to lay motionless while the hours ticked by in the longest night of his life. Steele felt paralyzed, locked in the straitjacket grip of a fear like he'd never known before. The only thing even close to this had been the morning he'd read of Anna Simpson's sudden death. But now he found himself facing the possibility of something infinitely worse. Because this horrible blackness, this terrible agony, would not be sudden. It would be slow, and cruel and desperate. And it would be Laura.

It wasn't fair.

He hadn't signed on for this, though he ought to have expected it. He brought it on himself, thinking he could have a small slice of that happiness that everyone else seemed to take for granted, deem their natural right. He knew better. He understood that the good things in life were reserved for a very few. Not for people like him, whose lives were cheap and whose pleasures were of the lowest and most ephemeral kind. Perhaps he didn't deserve happiness … but he couldn't accept this pain. Couldn't accept it for _her_.

Whatever he had done in his life to attract the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Laura shouldn't have to pay for it. It was irrational, he knew, to blame himself for this. But he'd always been superstitious. He had dared to reach for a life above his station, and now Laura was paying for that hubris.

The solution was simple, of course. As he'd done any number of times before, he had only to pack up his kit and high tail it. His leaving might not spare Laura this ordeal, but at least he wouldn't have to face it. He could cloud the memory of his time as Remington Steele in the casinos of Monte Carlo or the pleasure retreats of European nobility. And if thoughts of Laura did intrude on his consciousness … or his conscience … he could easily convince himself that, without his shadow across her life, Laura was just fine. He would never have to know.

And Laura? She'd do just fine without him, thank you very much. Better, in fact, than if she had to deal with him falling to pieces. She'd even said as much: _"It's none of your business." _Laura Holt was a survivor, with a core of iron. No, not iron. Shiny steel. And that was a helluva lot stronger than the tin-plated Steele who lay cowering in his bed.

Steele was not a church-going man — but he wasn't faithless. Indeed, the stern Christian Brothers into whose care he had fallen for a time as a small boy had instilled in him a holy terror of his Creator. The Lord was always watching, the Brothers warned him, ready to inflict divine punishment for any transgressions, large or small, that an unwanted orphan might commit against God or man. And so he had decided at an early age to give the Deity a wide berth, reasoning that if he didn't bother the Lord, the Lord would be equally uninterested in him.

True, in moments of great stress he had been known to cast his eyes heavenward in silent appeal or mumble the words of some half-remember creed. But that was like whistling in the dark or carrying a rabbit's foot … a bit of harmless mumbo-jumbo to ward off the boogie man. It certainly had never occurred to Steele to ask for guidance from above. Yet in the depths of that long, dark night, the man calling himself Remington Steele heard himself whisper, "Please … help me know what to do." And then he listened to the silence until he had his answer. As the first, gray light of dawn began to filter into his bedroom, Mr. Steele rose from his bed, took a suitcase out of the closet and began to pack.

-

Her hand felt warm in his, and her quiet, regular breathing was the only sound in the room. Steele glanced from the rhythmic spikes on the heart monitor to Laura's still, calm, beautiful face. She was pale, her skin like porcelain except for the delightful sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her eyes fluttered, opened, and slowly focused on the form sitting next to her hospital bed.

"Hi," she said groggily. "You're here."

"Yes," he answered, giving her hand a light squeeze. "I'm here."

"I told you not to come." Her tone was not angry, but surprised.

"Yet here I am." He gave her a mildly challenging look. "So sue me. Or fire me. Or punch me in the scrotum. I'm not leaving."

She chuckled, then winced. "You're lucky I'm a generous woman," she said drowsily.

"You mean you've forgiven me?"

"Well, I'm not going to fire you. Or sue you. I'm still considering the third option."

Steele reached with his free hand to brush a wisp of hair off her face. "How do you feel?"

"A little woozy … and …" she shifted slightly and winced again. "Sore." She lifted her head slightly and glanced down at the hospital gown covering her slim form. "I seem to still be all there," she said, dropping her head to the pillow again. "That must be a good sign."

Just then the door swung open and a man in a white jacket with a clipboard under his arm strode into the room. "Ah, we're awake!" he announced. He advanced on Steele with arm extended. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holt. I'm glad you're here."

"He's not-" Laura began, but Steele gave her hand a sharp squeeze.

"Nice to meet you, doctor," Steele said smoothly. "What's the good word?"

The doctor consulted his clipboard. Steele glanced at Laura and noticed her face was calm. However, she was squeezing his hand with a death grip. He slid his arm around her shoulders and braced himself.

"As we expected, the tumor was benign," the doctor said, and both Steele and Laura let out a sharp exhale.

"Thank God!" Steele said. He felt shaky and a little dizzy and impossibly light, as though he might float off his chair and bump into the ceiling at any moment. He looked down at Laura and saw her smiling and laughing with relief.

"You see?" she declared triumphantly. "I _told_ you it was nothing." She looked at the doctor. "When can I get out of here?"

"We'd like you to rest here for an hour or so, just to make sure there are no complications from the anesthesia." He turned to Steele. "She should take it easy the next few days. Just keep an eye on her The dressing will need to be changed once a day, and if you notice any excessive bleeding or seepage, or if she starts running a temp, bring her back in."

Steele nodded. "Got it. I'll take good care of her, doctor."

The doctor looked satisfied. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you that she'll be sore for a few days," he added. "So it's probably best to avoid intimacy until she's on the mend."

Steele laughed out loud. "Not to worry, doctor. I'm prepared to wait until she's ready." He stole a glance at Laura, who was shooting him daggers. "Looks like it will just be cuddles and kisses for a while, sweetheart."

"I'll try to cope," Laura answered dryly.

After a few last instructions, the doctor left to continue his rounds.

"Mr. Holt?" Laura said, after the door swung shut behind the physician.

Steele shrugged. "It was the only way they'd let me in. I suppose I could have shimmied up the side of the building and come in through the window, but this slight deception seemed more expedient."

"You're a determined man, Mr. Steele."

He smiled at her. "You have no idea, Miss Holt. Now I'll leave you to rest a few minutes while I give Mildred a call. She's pretty shook up."

Laura frowned. "That's one of the reasons I didn't want anyone to know about this. All this needless worrying on my account."

He leaned over the bed and gave her a quick peck. "We happen to think you're worth a bit of worrying about."

-

Slightly over an hour later, Laura was installed in her own bed with Nero purring beside her. She had protested when Steele insisted on driving her home, objected when he took her arm to help her gently up the stairs to her loft, and absolutely put her foot down when he suggested helping her into her nightie. But she was tired enough to only sigh when he tucked the blankets in around her and fluffed her pillow. And when he presented her with a glass of water and pain pill, she accepted them without complaint. Soon her eyes drifted shut and Steele sat at her bedside and watched until her features relaxed and her breathing became deep and regular. Then he got busy.

Laura slept several hours, and Steele was three-quarters through the edition of _Life Goes to the Movies_ he found on her coffee table when he heard a faint stirring from the bedroom above. He glanced over her shoulder to see Laura sitting up in bed, peering down at him with a slightly confused expression. He smiled up at her. "Good morning!" he called cheerily.

"My God, I slept that long?" Laura gasped.

"No. Only a few hours. You needed the rest. And now," he got out of his chair and headed for the kitchen, "you need to eat."

"You don't need to fix me anything. I'll just fix myself a bowl of cereal or something. Ooph! Ouch!"

Steele turned back to see her struggling painfully to get out of bed. "Hold it right there, Holt!" he said sternly. "And you need something more substantial than Cheerios."

"Really, Mr. Steele-"

"No arguments. It's already done."

In the kitchen, Steele had arranged several dishes on a bed tray and now carried it carefully up the short staircase to her bedroom level. Laura was sitting up, leaning against the brick wall that substituted for a headboard. Steele placed the bed tray over her lap and pulled off the dish towel that covered the dishes to keep them warm. A delectable aroma wafted up from a bowl of steaming soup; a small plate with toast points and a glass of milk completed the meal.

Laura breathed in and smiled. "Chicken noodle soup!" She gave him a saucy look. "From a foil packet?"

"Certainly not!" Steele retorted, affronted. "Made from scratch this time, my own recipe. You really should invest in some decent cookware, by the way."

Laura was looking down into the bowl. "You made me soup," she whispered. Then her face crumpled and she placed a hand over her eyes and began to weep.

"Laura!" Steele exclaimed, stricken at the sight of her distress. "I was only kidding about the cookware. It's fine."

The beautiful detective turned away and buried her face in her pillow, her whole body shaking with the force of her sobs. Steele hurriedly removed the bed tray from her lap and set it on the floor. Then he sat down on the side of the bed and stretched his arms around her, pulling her face against his chest. Her tears wet his shirt as he stroked her hair and murmured quietly. "Oh, Laura. It's all right, love. Just let it out." As she continued to tremble against him, he tenderly kissed the top of her head and rocked her gently in his arms. "It's okay. Everything's okay now."

After some moments, Laura's sobs subsided into sniffles, and finally she lifted her tear-stained face to look into Steele's. "I'm sorry," she sighed. "This is so embarrassing."

Steele wiped away a stray tear with his thumb. "Don't be silly. It's been a stressful day. You're more than entitled."

"Ugh. I hate this," she said, plucking a kleenex from the bedside table and blowing her nose loudly. "Acting like a child. Letting you see me like this. I'm a mess."

"So what? You think I'm going to think less of you because you're human? That you might possibly need to lean on somebody once in a while?" Steele's tone was harder than he meant it to be.

"I don't want to be a burden to you, or anyone else," she retorted, pulling away from him. "I can take care of myself."

Steele sighed and threw up his hands. "Of course you can. You don't need anybody. You're made of solid steel, and pity the fool who tries to find the real woman under all that armor."

"So why don't you just leave!"

He folded his arms and set his jaw. "Because I'm that fool."

They glared at one another a minute, then both laughed. "And they say _I'm_ stubborn," Laura said.

"I've learned from the best. Now let me go warm up your soup." He started to get up, but Laura grabbed his arm.

"Thank you."

"Any time."

When Steele returned with reheated soup, he found Laura poring over papers in a file on her lap.

"You just can't take a break, can you?" he said, smiling.

"I need to work. I like to work." She returned his smile. "It takes my mind off things."

He set the tray down on top of the paperwork. "Well, now you can work on polishing off this soup."

She stirred it, lifted the spoon, blew on it and took a sip. "Mmmm. A girl could get used to this kind of treatment."

"I'm counting on it."

She turned her attention to the soup, dunking her toast points in it with relish. Steele watched approvingly, pleased to see her so evidently enjoying the meal he'd made for her.

After a few minutes Laura set down her spoon and looked at Steele. "I was really scared." He saw her eyes glisten again, but she remained composed.

"Understandable. I was scared, too."

"It's just that this … it's something I had no control over. It was just happening to me, and I couldn't do anything but wait."

"You _could_ have done something. You could have confided in me, or in Mildred. Let us be there for you, with you."

"I know. But that would have made it … I don't know. Real." She took a deep, tremulous breath. "My Grandma Robinson, mother's mom, the one who gave me my piano? She died of breast cancer."

"I'm so sorry."

"Mother took care of her in our home in her final months. I was pretty young … 10, I believe, and didn't really understand what was going on. All I knew was that my Grammy wasn't able to hold me or read to me any more. It was one more strain on my parents' marriage, too. Daddy wanted to be supportive, but I think he didn't really know how. Grammy's illness took over mother's life, became the center of all our lives. And then she was gone, and her absence created a vacuum in the middle of our family that filled with all the pain and frustration and bitterness and grief that mother had been holding in for so long. Daddy couldn't deal with it. I really believe that's when their marriage ended, even though he didn't move out for several more years. He still lived with us, but he wasn't … present."

"I know how much you loved your father. That must have been very painful." Steele reached over and took Laura's hand. "And to be honest, I think I understand why he reacted that way. When you … care … deeply for someone, seeing them in pain or frightened and not knowing how to make it better — it's terrifying."

Laura nodded. "So you can see why I couldn't really tell … anyone."

Steele cupped Laura's cheek gently in his palm. "Not every man is like your father, Laura. It's possible that some men can get scared, even think about running away … but they stay." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "I told you once before, Laura. I'm not going anywhere. If things had turned out differently, well … I can't guarantee that I'd know what to do, how to help. But I do know I'd still be here."

Laura leaned back to look intensely into his eyes. Then she grabbed both sides of his face, drew him to her and kissed him. It was a long kiss: at once tender and deeply passionate, communicating everything neither could say in words. When it ended, Steele again started to get up from the bed.

"I'll just do up these dishes," he said, a little shakily. "And you get some rest."

As he turned, he heard Laura's quiet voice behind him. "Last night, I prayed that God would send me strength to face this."

She paused, then continued warmly. "And here you are."

Steele stopped and looked back at her. "That's right, Miss Holt. Here we are."

END


End file.
